


Waking Up

by TheBlindBandit



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Eye Trauma, Gen, Mentioned Fareeha "Pharah" Amari, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Not Suited For Retirement, One Shot, Prompt Fic, Reminiscing, Shrike Ana Amari, Snipers, Watchpoint: Gibraltar, who even knows if this works with the actual timeline anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 07:28:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17341166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBlindBandit/pseuds/TheBlindBandit
Summary: Ana admits idleness doesn’t suit her and goes on a supply run to prepare for a comeback, of sorts. A bit of a missing scene exploration inspired by skulking around the Necropolis map.





	Waking Up

**Author's Note:**

> Slowly backing up older fic. Originally posted on Tumblr in February 2018.

The laboratories of the Zürich headquarters would have given her exactly what she needed, once upon a time. But there was nothing left for anyone there anymore, in the rubble of so much.

Not even for ghosts like her.

The next closest, then, in her trudge out of Poland: the backup medical facilities of the former Watchpoint in Gibraltar. The base had been mothballed in haste, and had yet to be properly shut down - unwise of them not to properly decommission and clear it out, but Ana was thankful. Thankful, also, that Helix Security forces had yet to take control of the perimeter.

Perhaps they would bring in Captain Amari, pride of their Raptora program, to investigate suspicious intruder activity when Ana was done. If she made a mistake. That particular encounter was looking more and more like it would turn out to be inevitable, yes, but-

Not yet. Not yet.

Or maybe her attempts at avoidance would turn out like all the waiting and not-quite-living she’d been doing so far: useless, in the end. She’d been certain, so very certain, that she was done. But there was something in her, always there, that pulled and pushed and drove her, that made staying on the sidelines impossible. Something she had, to her endless chagrin, passed onto Fareeha - and then some.

She’d seen some of the images while scouring the news: a ceremony to honour the strike team that bravely defended Giza, and Fareeha with her medal. And her tattoo. Looking so much like the little hologram image Ana kept in her pocket, and yet nothing like it at all. It was hard to stomach the bitter mix of pride and horror at her daughter’s fiercely chosen path.

It was hard, too, to suppress the well of thoughts while walking down hallways as familiar to her as the back of her own hand, the way to the old labs she’d passed for reports and inspections countless times still unobstructed and clear.

She half-expected to turn a corner and find Winston pressed against a window, gazing at the beginnings of his orbital launch facility, and from there, always, up at the stars. Melancholy right up until the always restless form of young Oxton materialised by his side.

The unmistakable clanking and racket and booming voices of Reinhardt and Torbjörn in tandem all but seeped from the walls, as if etched into their metal plating for good. And if she squinted through the cobwebs, she might just be able to catch a glimpse of Jack and Gabriel huddled deep in discussion, waiting for her to join them.

Like none of them had ever left. Like it hadn’t all come crashing down around them. Like she hadn’t willingly disappeared - not after, but _as_ it did.

_She floated back up to reluctant consciousness, dazed with the familiar - to an old soldier - blur of anaesthetic and unfamiliar voices murmuring in a language she couldn’t understand. Polish, probably, where she’d been-_

_Where she had somehow **not** been killed._

_The hospital was small, and the staff struggled with English and Arabic both, and struggled, too, to help ‘Janina Kowalska’ remember anything at all about the incident that had cost her her right eye._

_Ana Amari remembered with perfect clarity, eventually. She could easily get from them a communicator, open a secure channel to HQ, to Jack, let them know where she was and what had happened, let them know about Amélie Lacroix, let Fareeha know- tell them to-_

_She didn’t._

Her recovery had been long, the headaches persistent, and her aimless wandering, slinking around sad remains of towns and cities blissfully unnoticed, even longer. She’d tried it: staying away, not meddling, leaving intervention to others, leaving to anyone else the whole sorry business of Overwatch, of Talon, of endless crises, of burying friends and of countless battlefields slowly blurring together. But it was a bad fit, and chafed worse than the patch that still stubbornly rubbed against her cheek.

She’d already lost the eye once - but perhaps to call it lost was too misleading. She had given it up, willingly, for the cybernetic enhancement and the nigh supernatural high-precision targeting it allowed, no scope needed. For the ability to kill better, and faster, and more.

It was some sort of justice, perhaps, that it was now gone. Or an opportunity - to try being human again, rather than striving for the level of a force of nature, or an icon. Whatever it was, she was prepared to take it.

The laboratory entrance security panel still recognised her as the second-in-command and let her in without a hitch, and her bounty - first of what might become many - was on a stand right before her.

There were no notches on this rifle, only a layer of dust. The make was exquisite, even as a prototype, and the balance and handling perfect. It rested against Ana’s shoulder like it had been made for her - which, of course, in effect it had.

_With this latest proposal, it is clear to me that we are on the slippery slope to modifications that will inevitably result in a weaponized version of this technology: something that I have been completely opposed to from the beginning..._

And oh, Ziegler had made such a fuss - would make it still, if she knew. Her biotic tech, and Torbjörn’s old design, finally to see use - with some modifications and improvements Ana planned to make on her own.

She slung the rifle over her shoulder, making a mental note to adjust the belt when she scrounged up the materials to do so. Her satchel she filled with as many of the ammo fluid capsules as she could, and several of the development mockup biotic grenades stored next to them. A few of the more refined tools she’d likely need followed, and a number of initial design and construction datapads, some of which she herself had contributed to and signed off on, many of which had never even reached the prototype stage - nothing anyone would ever miss. It would be enough to last her a good while, and beyond that she felt confident in her own knowledge and ability to make do.

And finally, a combat visor - but in truth more of a mask, to hide her from the world she had allowed to think her dead, without interfering with her aim. Until - well. Who knew? The world didn’t need Ana Amari anymore, and it was better for all that she remain buried. But that did not mean she couldn’t help, and Talon had grown far, far too bold in her absence.

There would be ships to take her to Egypt from here, quietly. Take her as close to home as she was prepared to venture.

As the first red of the dawn began to spill over the horizon, the Shrike stepped out into the open, and started towards the sea.


End file.
